


Frayed Faith

by dreaminglestrade



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Andrastian, Other, Religion, elven pantheon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 14:29:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21100991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreaminglestrade/pseuds/dreaminglestrade
Summary: Pre-Haven/Pre-Herald inquisitor reaches out to the Chantry. She discovers elves are not so welcome as the world proclaims.





	Frayed Faith

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE thanks to viveriveniversumvivusvici55 for being my Thedas encyclopedia and making this drabble possible.
> 
> So I have recently been headcanon-ing an Inquisitor Lavellan who was a minstrel before the explosion at the conclave. Just enough fighting ability to keep herself safe, but enough charisma to bolster an inquisition, all that jazz. I'm compiling a couple chapters with her, but this one demanded to be written as soon as possible.
> 
> I didn't INTEND for it to turn into my own self-commentary on organized religion, but there is quite a bit of that mentality in this particular piece. If you're not really into debating religion, you may want to skip this one. My Lavellan is pretty steeped in her reasoning around it.

She used to visit the Chantry.

Visit may not have been the best word for it. It seemed unlikely that someone so unwelcome could simply drop in for a _visit_.

Lara knew the Chantry was made for those who believed in the Maker. For the devoted families willing to trust that betrayal could be remedied with faith. It was for the masses so desperate for forgiveness that they would listen to solutions never questioned, stories never explained.

It was not for her. It was not for the conflicted elf so purposely lost in a town that wasn’t hers. She was breaching her own Golden City.

She should rely on Elgar’nan. On Mythal. Or if they didn’t answer, herself. Who was she, some knife-ear too restless to keep to the woods, too “free” to resign herself to the city, to believe she could claim herself as one of His children?

She should have been grateful for the gilded prison of her clan. Should have been so proud of her “heathen” trust in the Creators.

But the raised voices of the mothers, of the faithful, bounding through the stained windows and gleaming stone of the Chantry, was a balm. A siren call, daring her to ignore the rocks, ignore the glares and the angry whispers and the armored guards. Were they really that bad when her chest felt so full at the sound?

In the end, they were. Even a proud minstrel could only withstand so many tomatoes. Even she could not ignore judging stares forever.

_“You are not one of us. You are not allowed. This is not for you.”_

In the end, she retired herself to the darkness of the bushes. To visits. But in the shadows, her fingers would pluck carefully over each string. With her back to the wall, her eyes on the stars, Lara would mouth the words and the music would feel like home.


End file.
